


Fear and Loathing in the Zombie Apocalypse

by profligate



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Gore, agatha needs a nap and a shower, listen this is gonna get weird and idk what to tag so, negan is a shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 00:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profligate/pseuds/profligate
Summary: Agatha is a bitch, she knows that much. But Negan is like, King Bitch. He's in a whole other league of Bitch and she'll be damned if she doesn't catch up with him. And maybe get her own leather jacket along the way.A weird twenty something joins the Saviors, and Negan learns that maybe he isn't the most dangerous thing in the Sanctuary.





	Fear and Loathing in the Zombie Apocalypse

To be truthful, life hadn’t been a basket of daisies for Agatha even before the Zombie Apocalypse.

 

That still blew her mind, when she repeated the words. Fucking zombies.

 

Who knew, she mused, crunching on an apple as she watched the dead amble aimlessly beneath her current perch in a tree.

 

Living alone in her crappy little cottage at the end of a forest road, her tiny town suspicious of newcomers, despite her having lived there for six years. A writer by trade, surviving off the royalties from her true crime series, the local kids considered her somewhat of an urban legend. Her house was overgrown with vines and her lawn a wasteland of tall grass and clusters of lavender. She thought it was beautiful, enjoyed the visiting bees and wildlife, but the little shits had a different idea.

 

Here in the goddamned twenty first century, Agatha was teased by a roaming band of asshole teenagers. "Witch", they spray painted on her home. "Kid eater" they screeched gleefully from the road. One even dared to call her a hag, his mother having mind enough to slap him across his head and drag him out of the grocery store. The clerk had raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her (perfectly acceptable and from Anthropologie no less) baggy sweater and knit scarf. Honestly, she had hissed to herself, fucking bumpkins.

 

The house had belonged to some dead aunt, passed to her after no one else had wanted to deal with it. In want of an easy home and sick of the city, she took the chance and moved herself right in.

 

“What a cosmic joke,” she grumbled, tearing into the last bites of the apple.

 

Wiping the sticky juice on her jeans, she wedged the core between a branch and the tree. No sense ticking off the creeps down below. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and Agatha sighed.

 

Night wasn’t safe, obviously, and having been holed up in the sturdy tree for the better part of fourteen hours, her ass was numb and her back ached something fierce.

 

“I really need to find somewhere to settle, this lone ranger, wandering bullshit is getting old.”

 

Stretching, she settled her pack firmly on her shoulders and hefted her machete against her chest as she prepared to climb down. Her only weapon besides a shitty 9mm and five bullets, the sharp blade had served her well in the past few years. A glance at a few manuals in a highschool metals shop had set her up with sharpening and taking care of the damned thing, while the nurses office had provided her with all the peroxide and first aid items she could carry. 

 

High school was finally useful for something, she guessed.

But here she was, climbing down a tree in the middle of the country’s capital, and her luck had seemingly run out. As she was about to find out. 

 

Landing with a soft thump on the dry ground, Agatha pat herself down and brushed her cropped hair out of her face, muttering to herself. One step, and she immediately tripped on a root that she swore had not been there before, catching herself against the tree trunk.

 

_ Thump. _

 

Shit. 

 

The apple core had fallen, hitting precisely the only pile of dry leaves within ten miles, crunching against them loudly.

 

Groans reached her ears, shuffling footsteps rapidly approaching.

 

There was no time to climb back up. Cursing, she fled as quietly as she could manage in beat up sneakers, not daring to look over her shoulder. The trees hugged what used to be Route 95, cars and buses littering the concrete like something out of a movie. She hadn’t bothered to scavenge them, her pack full already.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” she hissed, not daring to run into the open. The dead had a habit of walking quietly and swiftly between the cars, sneaking up on you before you knew it. 

 

Agatha ran. And ran and ran. Until she had to walk, and then until she had to stop altogether. Her lungs burned, chest heaving as she tried to breathe as quietly as possible.

 

“Suck my ass Coach Pratt, cardio is still for the birds.” 

 

Barely 25 and she still held a grudge against her high school nemesis: gym class. Tall and lanky, low blood sugar with a tendency to pass out, and a distinct disinterest in sports had singled her out amongst her peers. Aerobics and track her a no go for her, and the coach absolutely seethed at her doctor's note, forcing her on occasion to participate. 

 

Prick.

 

Pulling sip from her beat up canteen, Agatha nearly choked at the sound of engines rumbling faintly;

 

What, the fuck.

 

Scaling a tree as fast as she could (winded and exhausted, it wasn’t fast at all), she peeked through the branches and leaves. What looked to be a convoy of dark trucks ambed down the road, weaving between cars. As if Lady Luck herself had decided to shit in Agatha’s destiny-cornflakes, the convoy stopped less than half a mile from her tree. The few dead on the road ambled up at the noise, only to be immediately dropped by what looked to be crowbars, a tire iron, and...was that a baseball bat?

 

A man was barking orders as people leapt out of the trucks, wrenching open car doors and trunks.

 

Agatha watched for what seemed like hours, tracking the men and women as they hauled supplies back and forth to the truck. They slowly moved down the road toward her tree, working until the afternoon. Her body had begun to vibrate from the strain of sitting still in the tree, this one not quite as sturdy as the last.

 

The man with the bat, closer now, seemed to be the one in charge. Sporting what looked to be a leather jacket, Agatha immediately labeled him as a douche. It was close to 87 degrees according to her trusty sports watch, and this asshole was decked out in leather.

 

As she began to relax, they had moved directly in her line of sight, not twenty feet from the treeline. All it would take was one person to look a little too closely. Feeling secure, she huddled against the trunk and decided to wait them out. They were wasting her daylight but it seemed a better option than getting her head bashed in. 

 

But today just wasn’t her day. 

 

Three things happened in rapid succession. Glass shattered as one of the men shut a car door a little too roughly. The noise startled a flock of birds, who flew straight into Agatha’s face, earning her scratches and an eyeful of feathers. Losing her balance, she twisted her body to protect her face and fell straight out of the tree. Landing on her back and only slightly cushioned by her pack, Agatha groaned.

 

“What the hell-BOSS, WE GOT ONE.”

 

She sighed, closing her eyes. 

 

“ _ Dear lord, jesus, whoever, please just let me sink into the earth, I’ll be a good earthworm I promise.”  _

 

Rapid footsteps approached her and she finally deigned to sit up, putting her back to the tree and gripping the machete across her chest firmly.

 

Five or six men and women began to surround her, guns pulled from waistbands and aimed at her chest. The Prick, pushed past one of them and came closer than the rest.

 

Agatha swallowed heavily. 

 

“ _ Shit, he looks like a movie villain, what the everlasting fuck.” _

 

Raising an eyebrow at her dirty and disheveled state, he leaned his weight against the bat lazily. 

 

“Well hey there lil chipmunk, take a nasty fall?” he greeted, eyes flicking up to the branch she had been posted on.

 

Agatha grit her teeth.

 

“No sir, I took a swan dive for the kicks, needed a change in perspective.” she bit, not liking the smirk that twisted his lips.

 

“A change in perspective...I like that. That’s a big pack you have there, chipmunk. Must be ready for winter with all that crap.”

 

She didn’t rise to the bait, glowering at him.

 

He laughed, throwing his head back and swinging his bat idly. His little minions didn’t flinch, eyeing her critically for any sign of aggression. 

 

The man pretended to wipe his eyes and pointed at her with one gloved hand.

 

“So scary, I’m spooked kid, really. But that ain’t gonna fly with me, I promise you that. My name’s Negan, chip, and I think you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

 

Agatha bit her tongue as he motioned for his cronies to pull her up.

 

Fuck.


End file.
